


Sunshine on a Plate

by Samayla



Series: Lemon Meringue AU [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bittersweet, Found Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samayla/pseuds/Samayla
Summary: In which Bilbo's hodgepodge family pulls together to make do without Thorin - only to discover he'll never really be gone.This is the bittersweet conclusion to the Lemon Meringue AU.It had to end, as all things do, but hopefully this ending brings us all some peace.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Lemon Meringue AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1277327
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

“The only thing I keep thinking,” Sam said, staring into his mug, “is how much I wish we could ask Mr Thorin what we should do - only that’s the problem, isn’t it?” He took a swig of ale and sighed. “I probably sound foolish.”

“It’s not foolish, Sam,” Frodo murmured. “I keep thinking the same thing. Uncle Thorin always had a plan.” 

_ We’ve got to help him, Uncle Thorin! It’s so scary being just a little hobbit sometimes! _

“Could you bake Mr Bilbo one of them pies?” Sam asked hopefully. “Seems most of his plans came down to pie.”

“Oh, Sam… It wouldn’t be the same. Thorin had me pick up all the ingredients the day before… well, the day before.” Frodo swallowed but forced himself to continue. “He thought he was getting better. He wanted to celebrate. Everything was ready and lined up - you know how he cooks." He couldn't quite bring himself to use the past tense, not yet, but Sam let it pass. "Bilbo went to make the two of us some tea after everyone else had finally gone yesterday, only I hadn’t got things cleaned up yet.” Frodo took a swig of his ale and then let his head drop down to his hands. “It was the worst sound, Sam - like something was being ripped out of him that could never be put back.” 

Frodo was dimly aware of Sam flagging down Rosie for another round, but it was a while before his friend said anything. 

“I think we should bake a pie anyway,” Sam said at last. “It might not be the same, but then neither were any of Mr Thorin’s pies.”

“But with Thorin gone…”

“He’s not gone though,” Sam insisted. He put a hand on Frodo’s arm. “Not really. Everyone knows the stories, Frodo. They’ve been a part of them through the years. He brought one to me and my da when Ma passed. And we’re not the only ones.” 

Frodo sat up and offered Sam a watery smile. 

Sam wasn’t done. “Someone just mentions a lemon pie, and your uncle’s pies are what we all think of. Your uncle Thorin is an ingredient in every lemon pie that’ll ever be made from here to Buckland, if you catch my meaning, and that might not count for very much in the grand scheme of things, but it’s something special right here, and I’ve a notion to remind Mr Bilbo of that. And you too, if you’ve forgotten it.” Sam took another swig of his ale and sat up straighter, frowning as he thought, and Frodo found himself feeling better, in spite of everything.

_ He must have forgotten, Uncle Thorin. We have to —  _

“Now, Mr Bilbo hasn’t cancelled the big party yet, has he?”

“Not yet,” Frodo said. “I think Uncle Bilbo’s forgotten all about it, to be honest.”

“Good,” Sam declared. “You leave matters to me. You just take care of your uncle in the meanwhile, and keep him safely inside Bag End until Saturday.”

_ “No buts,” Thorin rumbled. “A case as serious as this one calls for desperate measures.” _


	2. Chapter 2

“Bilbo Baggins, you have done quite enough moping for one lifetime.”

Bilbo groaned and pulled his blanket up around his ears. “I’m not moping, Gandalf.”

“I am happy to hear it, and I have good news for you as well: your bed is quite firmly affixed to the floor, and it will not wander away if you should choose to leave it unsupervised for an hour or two. And furthermore, as both you and your bed smell distinctly of troll at this point, I believe there is little risk of anyone stealing it while you aren’t looking.”

“That’s not me you’re smelling,” Bilbo groused, lurching upright in bed on the second try and squinting in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window Gandalf had opened. “It’s that old chest in the hall closet. Never has come really clean.” He shoved the blankets down to glare at the wizard standing at the foot of his bed. “What on earth are you doing here, Gandalf?”

“It is your birthday, old friend.”

Bilbo pulled a face and dove back beneath the blankets. “I’d forgotten.”

Gandalf didn’t say anything, but Bilbo found his quilt being slowly and inexorably drawn away. He flopped onto his back with a huff. “I’m not up to it, Gandalf.”

“We needn’t celebrate your birthday if you don’t feel like it, but it is Frodo’s too, Bilbo. Surely you don’t mean to leave him to face the day on his own.”

Bilbo sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.” He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. “And I do smell rather of troll.” 

“Indeed,” was all Gandalf offered before leaving Bilbo to wash and dress. When he emerged, feeling considerably more like a proper hobbit, Bilbo found Gandalf waiting at the back door. “There you are,” he said briskly. “Come along, or we shall be very late indeed.”

“Late for what? Gandalf, I can’t just -”

“Bilbo Baggins, you’ve never let that stop you before.”

Bilbo stared at Gandalf for a long moment, and then the wizard’s arms opened wide, as if he knew how close Bilbo was to flying apart at the seams, blowing away like so much dandelion fluff, just a wish on the wind.

“I know, old friend,” the wizard murmured, stroking his back and hair as Bilbo clung and sobbed like a fauntling into his robes. “I know.” 

“I am afraid, Gandalf,” Bilbo said at last.

“So are we all, at times such as these,” Gandalf answered. “But you have always been bigger than your fear, my dear Bilbo. Now, come. This is only another adventure.”

Bilbo braced himself and followed Gandalf outside - only to stumble into a tent.


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed that every hobbit in the Shire was in his garden - a garden that was now inside a tent. And full to bursting with far more flowers than the ones he’d planted with Thorin and Frodo that spring.

A tightness rose up in his throat, prickling his nose and stinging his eyes, but Bilbo swallowed it back. Gandalf’s hand was warm on his shoulder, and with a wave of his gnarled staff, fairy lights flared to life, painting the dim interior of the tent with vibrant color. Bilbo flinched, bracing himself for the pitying gazes, the subdued smiles, even tears from his closest friends and relations, but he was astonished to see that no one seemed sad. 

Excited was nearer the mark. 

Expectant.

“Uncle Bilbo! You made it!” Frodo’s grin was infectious, though Blibo could not for the life of him have imagined having cause to smile like that even five minutes earlier.

Bilbo swallowed back another wave of emotion as he recognized a miniature wisteria over Frodo’s shoulder, then a pot of forget-me-nots down by their toes. “You are your uncle over again, Frodo, my lad,” he managed. The thought made him feel surprisingly plucky, and he cleared his throat and continued. “Lead on - I suspect there’s pie somewhere around here, unless our good neighbors have attempted to eat it already.”

It was like a spell was broken. Peregrin Took let out a hoot of laughter, and suddenly the garden was alive with it, like one of the wizard’s fireworks going off and scattering multicolored stars across the night sky. There was laughter high and clear like tinkling bells; low, self-conscious chuckles; loud, braying guffaws… And a deep, booming bark of a laugh that Bilbo would recognize anywhere.

“Dwalin, my dear fellow! Where are you?” 

There he was, bald, tattooed head coming out from behind Delphinia Hardbottle’s pink confectionary cloud of a hat. Then Fili and Kili were tackling him in a bone-crushing hug, and gentle Ori was there, teary but smiling. Bilbo waded deeper into the tent, to shake hands with Elgin Bolger and his wife, to pat old Perris Clayhanger on the shoulder, to hug Maisy Brownlock as she laugh-cried into his shoulder. Everyone was there - everyone who mattered, and quite a few he’d never thought of, as well. 

At last, Bilbo neared the far side of the tent, and the crowd parted to reveal a splendid assortment of treats heaped up on a sagging table. “We know it’s not the same, Mr Bilbo,” Sam Gamgee said tentatively, “but we mean well, and, well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

On the table, there were as many varieties of lemon pie as there were varieties of hobbits in the Shire. Custardy lemon pies with fluffy meringue in golden brown peaks and swirls. Thick, heavy lemon pies like dense, fudgy cakes. Pulpy lemon pies with latticework pastry and fluted edges. Thin, delicate lemon pies dusted with ground sugar. Lemon pies with lavender. Lemon pies with blueberries. Lemon pies with rosemary or chamomile or strawberries or rhubarb. Lemon pies topped with sugary curls of candied lemon rind. Lemon pies sprinkled with nutty poppy seeds. Lemon pies decorated with pansies or violets or rose petals.

And then there was Lobelia’s pie - store-bought, of course - with the triple stars of Merle’s Confections in Bree stamped into the top crust. 

Bilbo turned to the assembled crowd, intending to share a wish that Thorin had been here to see this, but he paused as something caught his eye. 

It was Delphinia’s hat pin, flashing in the glow of Gandalf’s dancing fairy lights. He remembered that pin. It had been a wedding gift commissioned by her husband, and Bilbo remembered the heaps of paper Thorin had gone through trying to get the shape of the tiny delphinium blossoms just right in his sketches. Then comforting him through three failed attempts to capture his vision at the forge. The late nights and early mornings as the wedding drew nearer. Then Delphinia’s cry of joy when she opened the simple blue box. The edges were tarnished now, and Thorin had replaced two of the original blossoms himself over the years, but Delphinia had worn that pin every market day without fail for the past forty years.

Bilbo smiled to himself, warmed by the memory. 

Then he saw Ori’s fountain pen flashing as he sketched the scene - another of Thorin’s creations, gifted to Ori when the Moria expedition had been announced. 

And there were the sturdy little wagon wheel buttons on Perris’ waistcoat - and the acorns on his own, he realized, rubbing one with his thumb. The braided iron hooks and posts holding the myriad baskets and buckets and boxes of flowers. The lacy edge of a silver serving platter. The intricate etching on the blade of a pie server.

And all the wire whisks and metal spoons and kitchen knives it had taken to make all these desserts possible in the first place. 

And that ridiculous day at the fair.

Thorin was everywhere.

And there was Frodo, the medicinal stink of peppermint and lemon rising from the frying pan in his hands. “Happy birthday, Uncle Bilbo.”

Again something was welling up inside of Bilbo, but strangely, it didn’t feel quite like sorrow. 


	4. Epilogue

“Tell me again, lad: where are we going?”

Frodo sighed fondly and repeated himself once again. “To the harbor, Uncle. The elves have accorded you a special honor, a place on the last ship to leave Middle Earth.”

Bilbo hummed to himself and settled once again against Frodo’s shoulder, his wiry white curls brushing Frodo’s cheek. 

He stirred again as the carriage slowed and came to a stop at the harbor. He peered from Frodo’s serious face to Sam’s blotchy one and back again as they helped him down to the quay. “Any chance of a bit of pie, Frodo?”

Frodo laughed a little sadly. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought any pie, Uncle.”

“Hmm… Pity. Sunshine on a plate, you know. Just the thing for a day like this.”

Frodo and Sam both smiled at that. “I know, Uncle Bilbo.” 

As they neared the white ship and its waiting elven passengers, a weight seemed to lift from Bilbo’s ancient shoulders. The sun broke through the clouds, and he shook off his escorts entirely. “I think I’m quite ready for another adventure, my lads,” he declared with a grin and a laugh. “Who knows what might go wrong!”


End file.
